LITMIR.BIZ

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of the report instantly, had just finished putting it through the copier when Gordon Brown entered. He was on a split shift. Three hours from ten until one and six until ten in the evening. He put his briefcase down and took off his jacket.

      ‘You go whenever you like, Alice. Anything special?’

      ‘Just this report for Captain Tanner. It’s a Number Ten job. I said I’d take it along.’

      ‘I’ll take it for you,’ Brown said. ‘You get going.’

      She passed him both copies of the report and started to clear her desk. No chance to make an extra copy, but at least he could read it which he did as he went along the corridor to Mary Tanner’s office. She was sitting at her desk when he went in.

      ‘That report you wanted, Captain Tanner. Shall I arrange a messenger?’

      ‘No thanks, Gordon. I’ll see to it.’

      ‘Anything else, Captain?’

      ‘No, I’m just clearing the desk. Brigadier Ferguson and I are going to Paris.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll have to get moving. We’re due out of Gatwick at eleven.’

      ‘Well, I hope you enjoy yourself.’

      When he went back to the copy room Alice Johnson was still there. ‘I say, Alice,’ he said, ‘would you mind hanging on for a little while? Only something’s come up. I’ll make it up to you.’

      ‘That’s all right,’ she said. ‘You get off.’

      He put on his coat, hurried downstairs to the canteen and went into one of the public telephone booths. Tania Novikova was only at the flat because of the lateness of the hour when she had left the Embassy the previous night.

      ‘I’ve told you not to ring me here. I’ll ring you,’ she told him.

      ‘I must see you. I’m free at one.’

      ‘Impossible.’

      ‘I’ve seen another report. The same business.’

      ‘I see. Have you got a copy?’

      ‘No, that wasn’t possible, but I’ve read it.’

      ‘What did it say?’

      ‘I’ll tell you at lunchtime.’

      She realised then that control on her part, severe control, was necessary. Her voice was cold and hard when she said, ‘Don’t waste my time, Gordon, I’m busy. I think I’d better bring this conversation to an end. I may give you a ring sometime, but then I may not.’

      He panicked instantly. ‘No, let me tell you. There wasn’t much. Just that the two French criminals involved had been murdered, they presumed by the man Dillon. Oh, and Brigadier Ferguson and Captain Tanner are flying over to Paris in the Lear jet at noon.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘They’re hoping to persuade this man Martin Brosnan to help them.’

      ‘Good,’ she said. ‘You’ve done well, Gordon. I’ll see you tonight at your flat. Six o’clock and bring your work schedule for the next couple of weeks.’ She rang off.

      Brown went upstairs, full of elation.

      Ferguson and Mary Tanner had an excellent flight and touched down at Charles de Gaulle Airport just after one. By two o’clock they were being ushered into Hernu’s office at DGSE headquarters in Boulevard Mortier.

      He embraced Ferguson briefly. ‘Charles, you old rogue, it’s far too long.’

      ‘Now then, none of your funny French ways,’ Ferguson told him. ‘You’ll be kissing me on both cheeks next. Mary Tanner, my aide.’

      She was wearing a rather nice Armani trouser suit of dark brown and a pair of exquisite ankle boots by Manolo Blahnik, diamond stud earrings and a small gold Rolex divers’ watch completed the picture. For a girl who was not supposed to be particularly pretty, she looked stunning. Hernu, who knew class when he saw it, kissed her hand. ‘Captain Tanner, your reputation precedes you.’

      ‘Only in the nicest way, I hope,’ she replied in fluent French.

      ‘Good,’ Ferguson said. ‘So now we’ve got all that stuff over, let’s get down to brass tacks. What about Brosnan?’

      ‘I have spoken to him this morning and he’s agreed to see us at his apartment at three. Time for a late lunch. We have excellent canteen facilities here. Everyone mixes in from the Director downwards.’ He opened the door. ‘Just follow me. It may not be quite the best food in Paris, but it’s certainly the cheapest.’

      In the stateroom at the barge, Dillon was pouring a glass of Krug and studying a large-scale map of London. Around him, pinned to the mahogany walls, were articles and reports from all the newspapers specifically referring to affairs at Number Ten, the Gulf War and how well John Major was doing. There were photos of the youngest Prime Minister of the century, several of them. In fact, the eyes seemed to follow him about. It was as if Major was watching him.

      ‘And I’ve got my eye on you, too, fella,’ Dillon said softly.

      The things that intrigued him were the constant daily meetings of the British War Cabinet at Number Ten. All those bastards, all together in the same spot. What a target. Brighton all over again and that affair had come close to taking out the entire British Government. But Number Ten as a target? That didn’t seem possible. Fortress Thatcher it had been dubbed by some after that redoubtable lady’s security improvements. There were footsteps on the deck overhead. He opened a drawer in the table casually revealing a Smith & Wesson .38 revolver, closed it again as Makeev came in.

      ‘I could have telephoned, but I thought I’d speak to you personally,’ the Russian said.

      ‘What now?’

      ‘I’ve brought you some photos we’ve had taken of Brosnan as he is now. Oh, and that’s the girlfriend, Anne-Marie Audin.’

      ‘Good. Anything else?’

      ‘I’ve heard from Tania Novikova again. It seems Brigadier Ferguson and his aide, a Captain Mary Tanner, have flown over. They were due out of Gatwick at eleven.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d say they’ll be with Hernu right now.’

      ‘To what end?’

      ‘The real purpose of the trip is to see Brosnan. Try and persuade him to help actively in the search for you.’

      ‘Really?’ Dillon smiled coldly. ‘Martin’s becoming a serious inconvenience. I might have to do something about that.’

      Makeev nodded at the clippings on the walls. ‘Your own private gallery?’

      ‘I’m just getting to know the man,’ Dillon said. ‘Do you want a drink?’

      ‘No thanks.’ Suddenly Makeev felt uncomfortable. ‘I’ve things to do. I’ll be in touch.’

      He went up the companionway. Dillon poured himself a little more champagne, sipped a little then stopped, walked into the kitchen and poured the whole bottle down the sink. Conspicuous waste, but he felt like it. He went back into the stateroom, lit a cigarette and looked at the clippings again, but all he could think about was Martin Brosnan. He picked up the photos Makeev had brought and pinned them up beside the clippings.

      Anne-Marie was in the kitchen at the Quai de Montebello, Brosnan going over a lecture at the table, when the doorbell rang. She hurried out, wiping her hands on a cloth.

      ‘That will be them,’ she said. ‘I’ll get it. Now don’t forget your promise.’

      She touched the back of his neck briefly and went out. There was a sound of voices in the hall and she returned with Ferguson, Hernu and Mary Tanner.

      ‘I’ll make some coffee,’ Anne-Marie said and went into the kitchen.

      ‘My dear Martin.’ Ferguson

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